


like a river

by astersandstuffs



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, M/M, Minor Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-08 05:26:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11639835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astersandstuffs/pseuds/astersandstuffs
Summary: “Is that a confession? Are you actually confessing to me right now?”“Hm. Yeah.”Or, they still have a lot to learn (and maybe that's the thing about being together).





	like a river

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to remywrites and fxvixen for helping me with the draft & Miah_Kat and indigostardust for checking over the rewrite!

Being around Matsukawa is a sort of river-like peace.

This is what Takahiro tells him when another morning practice devolves into some dramatic coupledom dispute. _Just the usual_ , really, between two childhood friends so in tune with each other’s subtlest gestures they’ve forgotten how direct communication works. Iwaizumi and Oikawa continue on with their bickering, and even the first-years (read: everyone sans Kindaichi) know it’s simply thinly-disguised flirting, volleyballs thrown at each other in lieu of love letters. (Because of course their language of love involves volleyball.)

If they were strangers, he’d think Matsukawa had just noticed his presence from the way he slowly blinks at him. But his friend is caught slightly off-guard, eyes widening by mere millimeters, before he gives up an amused smile.

“Why so?” Matsukawa simply asks.

Takahiro shrugs. He hasn’t exactly dwelled on such things. “This is chaos,” he says, right as Kunimi sidesteps a stray missile and Kindaichi ends up taking the brunt of it, his yelp joining the Iwaizumi-Oikawa chorus. “Yet here you are, all unbothered, going on with _practice drills_.”

“Aren’t you the same, though?”

 _Well, I only feel this way around you._ “Kindred spirits.” Takahiro grins. “They’re idiots and we’re the calm, sensible senpai.”

“They’re _our_ idiots,” Matsukawa corrects.

As they gaze on like seasoned birdwatchers, far too used to such a show, Iwaizumi marches toward his other half. He grabs Oikawa by the collar of his shirt, yanks him down to eye-level, and ends it all with a gentle kiss on the cheek.

Oikawa’s face goes aflame. Iwaizumi’s hiding his. Peace restored.

Matsukawa hums—and even that, Takahiro thinks, sounds like a river, when it’s quiet and you wait by the banks for nothing in particular, the water in no hurry to surge. “Still,” he drawls, bouncing his volleyball against the parquet a couple of times, “they’re relationship goals—and I can’t believe I said that, wow. But, well. Do you think we’ll ever become like that?”

Takahiro quirks a brow (as much as there is to quirk, anyway). “Is that a confession? Are you actually confessing to me right now?”

“Hm. Yeah.”

Oikawa drapes himself over Iwaizumi, wailing about how their sweet, evil Yahaba is bullying him, all the while sporting the look of a proud senpai. On the court, Yahaba turns to graciously help a reserve player hone their serves, Watari whistling a new anime’s soundtrack as he dives for perfect receives. Kyoutani makes a constipated face, like he’s thinking to follow Iwaizumi’s example and hurl the ball he’s strangling at either Yahaba or their captain.

What a beautiful morning.

“I refuse to become like our idiots,” Takahiro says. “That’d be weird.”

At this, Matsukawa hums again. Higher in pitch, cut short. He does not look at Takahiro.

So Takahiro watches him. How his head, always a tangle of messy black curls, tilts downward as he tests the volleyball several more times, when he’s never had such a routine before a serve. The way his semi-permanent pout is thinner now, a sign he’s been gnawing at his lower lip—just the inside of it so most observers wouldn’t notice. The pink dusting the tip of his ears.

It takes a lot to embarrass Matsukawa Issei.

( _Does Hanamaki Takahiro mean a lot to you?_ )

And because Takahiro has much less bravado than he plasters on, and _crushes on best friends_ are never his forte despite all the innuendos he’s contributed for the two squabbling love birds, he just tells Matsukawa _get a service ace this time_ or he’d owe him lunch otherwise. Then he heaves in a breath for his own confession.

“We’re not them, Oikawa and Iwaizumi. Firstly, that’s kinda insulting, because we’re way smarter and less oblivious. Secondly…” He bends down to pick up a ball off of the floor, and swears to himself it’s not an excuse to hide reddened cheeks. “Why?”

“Maybe we’ve still got a lot to learn,” Matsukawa answers. “Whether it's from our idiots in love or not.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Matsukawa's jump serve is excellent, though it’s not quite the service ace yet. He promises Takahiro a profiterole from his favorite bakery on their way home.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

  

“So.”

“So?”

At the library’s most secluded corner, Takahiro finds Matsukawa lounging against the _Dictionaries & Indexes_ shelves, a well-read paperback open on his lap and earphones turned medium-low for conversations. He goes to sit beside him, bending his legs at the knees to respect the shelves in front of them (because Matsukawa actually _likes_ books). They lean close enough to bump shoulders as usual.

He plucks one earbud from Matsukawa, settles it in his own ear, and recognizes the current song from Matsukawa’s _Study_ playlist. “How does this work?”

Matsukawa gives a hum. “The wires are connected to this cute little thing here—”

“You _ass_.” Through gaps between some books, Takahiro makes sure the librarian is still immersed in her YouTube videos, grateful for his near perfect eyesight, and reaches into Matsukawa’s sweater to retrieve his Pocky. (Vanilla flavor, like cream puffs. Matsukawa guessed his favorite.) He presses two hundred-yen coins onto Matsukawa’s already open palm. “You know what I meant.”

“I have an excellent ass, but I’m a bit hurt if that’s all you think of me.”

“You have a _great_ ass. Very appreciable.”

“Why, thank you. I’d say yours is a work of art as well.”

“Speaking of asses, though,” Takahiro prompts, past any thoughts of _Matsukawa changing in the club room_ and _Matsukawa and him checking each other out in the club room_ (and, _gods forbid_ —did he notice Takahiro had faint but still embarrassing acne scars all over his back?). He distracts himself by concentrating on opening his Pocky as quietly aggressive as possible. “Where’re the duo? They ditched us on _lunch_. And here we are now.”

“They’re making out in the closet near class 3-6,” Matsukawa says like it’s old news, flipping over to the next page. “Still releasing pent-up sexual frustration from years of mutual pining and miscommunication, probably.”

“And how did you know this?”

Matsukawa stares at him, all serious and wounded. “I’ve been scarred for _life_ , Hanamaki.”

“Ah, young love,” Takahiro offers in condolences, following it up with a grin and a bite of vanilla Pocky. He digs out a second biscuit, flourishes it for Matsukawa like a magician’s wand, and lets go as Matsukawa closes his teeth on one end, leaving him fumbling to save it from the unsanitary floor. He laughs, because Matsukawa’s forced to make such _ridiculous_ faces while he’s at it.

“Oh, like _you_ can do any better.”

“The key is in the suction,” Takahiro explains. And demonstrate. “You don’t bite—you _suck_.”

Matsukawa coughs so loud they have to take cover from the disgruntled librarian.

“But seriously,” Takahiro brings around the topic again, when they’ve deemed the situation safe, crisis averted. “How will this change things?”

“‘How will it change things?’” Matsukawa echoes his question. He hums thoughtfully. “I guess we’ll make bento for each other.”

“I _knew_ you only want me for my amazing homemade meals.”

“I do love your cooking.”

“That’s so cheesy, gods. And I am not your waifu,” Takahiro scolds. “Besides, that’s not much different than what we’re doing all the time.”

“Does it have to be different?” Matsukawa asks. “Can’t we just do what we’ve always done if it makes us happy?”

“Oh.”

“I know I wanted to confess to you for a long while, and that I was just— _really_ happy, when you accepted, and I still am. I know I want us _together_ , whatever it means, from doing things together or just a state of being. Maybe we have time to figure it out.”

Matsukawa tips his head to see him, curls pressed and splayed against the shelves. Takahiro itches to card his hand through it. Something more than the usual tousle. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” Takahiro just says back, past the one year of high school they have left, the separate colleges (if they even do go), and different cities and whatnots that’d come after. “We’re okay.”

Maybe, for them, this isn't some border to cross. _Have you heard the thing they say about falling? Slowly, slowly_ , and there might not be a need to crashland, to have a revelation, or an epiphany. The sun still rises and sets, stars die out and are reborn, and they take the train to school together (and maybe, just maybe, Takahiro would cook Matsukawa some snacks now and then), because they're neither a step up nor a step down.

“And,” Takahiro continues, finishing the snack in hand and wondering if it’s horribly cheesy to think of it as an indirect kiss, “I thought about kissing you. For a long while.”

“Thought? Past tense?”

He grins. “We can kiss now, can’t we?”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

(“Oh, my gods,” Takahiro whispers as they part, just the slightest bit breathless, clutching at Matsukawa’s earphones. “ _What’s[this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WOcwbAI-nHA)_? Why are we having our first kiss to this song?!”

Matsukawa just laughs, even as Takahiro hisses, half-laughing as well, that _this is ridiculous_.

The librarian does find them, then.

It’s more than worth the detention.)

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Reltinsiph golsh.”

“You look like a chipmunk, only less cute and more hilarious.”

Takahiro swallows the final bite of profiterole. “I’m offended you’d think a chipmunk is cuter than me. Go date a chipmunk, then.”

“Don’t worry, dear. None of them are as enjoyable to insult. Or to insult other people with.” Matsukawa chuckles, the sound of it somehow a matching rhythm to the languid flow of the river they’re crossing. Suburban stars glimmer on the water, wavering by the small ripples. “But you were saying?”

“Relationship goals,” repeats Takahiro. “You said that about Oikawa and Iwaizumi.”

“Yeah?”

“What made you say that?”

Off the bridge, they take a turn and walk parallel along the river. Street lamps and corner shops still open for the evening cast their shadows, larger than life, and Takahiro has the strangest urge to chase them and tug Matsukawa along. _Strange_ , because normally he’d rather walk with them, one unhurried step at a time, and take the ambience in as he goes.

He thinks Matsukawa might like it this way as well. Always with a pace neither too fast nor too slow, despite those long legs of his—neither rushing nor stagnant, like this river they’re passing by, but something they both can settle in.

(But maybe love just makes you want to run, scream, holler like nothing else.)

“It’s just something about them,” Matsukawa says. “Though I’m not saying it’s a universal thing.”

Takahiro gasps. “ _Matsukawa_ , I didn’t know you were a _romantic_.”

“Really, all those novels I read didn’t give you a hint?”

“You read, like, philosophical stuff. _Existential crises_ -inducing stuff.”

“Hm. I don’t know. Wouldn’t love be kinda like that?”

Takahiro jostles their shoulders together, if only because he doesn’t exactly know yet what to decide of that, and grins at the way Matsukawa indulges him by swaying with the motion. “Is that what you want? The way Oikawa and Iwaizumi are lovey-dovey with each other?”

“You said it yourself that we aren’t them,” Matsukawa points out. “I think we both know what we want, but it’s the _how_ that’s a bit of uncharted territory.”

“We kissed. I’m pretty sure of the order of things after that.”

This is when Takahiro discovers that _Matsukawa Issei has dimples_ , as the other boy’s laugh bursts at the seams. He thinks this is one of those changes, that they might come in small ways, intimate ways. _I just hadn’t been looking close enough_ —and he wonders how such an infinitesimal part of Matsukawa could make him so damn happy. ( _Wipe that dumbstruck grin off your face, Takahiro, or you’ll never hear the end of it._ )

“So, what, you want to try doing the things they do?”

Matsukawa smirks. He leans in to bring down the three centimeters gap, his breaths soft on Takahiro’s ear and voice rich like none other. “Wanna make out in the school’s closets?”

When the inside of his chest goes all fluttery, Takahiro refuses to pin it on _butterflies_. “Sometimes I wonder which one of us has the dirtier mind.” With a shake of his head, his own smirk abound, he lets his hands find solace from the evening chill in the pockets of his Aoba Johsai pants, and the rest of him by narrowing the proximity with Matsukawa. Their elbows jab at one another’s side as they walk, but neither of them widen this newfound distance. “But, you know what I mean.”

“It’s the little things,” Matsukawa muses. “Holding pinkies together on the walk from school, feeding each other their lunch. Sharing earphones when their tastes in music is pretty much the opposite.”

“Matsukawa,” Takahiro says, deliberately, and stares at his friend-turned-something all scandalized. “Either you’re one perceptive bastard or you’ve been stalking them, because that’s one creepy observation.”

“You’re too risqué to have the right to judge, and it's not like they're even trying to hide it. I don't think they even realize it.”

“Why don’t we make a list?” Takahiro proposes. They’re almost at the crossroad, where they’ll go their respective way home. “We could call it _Things To Try_ —just try, because I’d like to make ours by ourselves.”

“Gods, _no_.” Matsukawa laughs. “That’s so _cringey_. I’m cringing so hard.”

“You love me, anyway.”

When they reach the intersection, the sky no longer darkening and the limelight of nearby lampposts missing them by a breadth (but it’s not like they feel the need to be _supernovas_ , anyway), Takahiro offers Matsukawa a grin. He links their littlest fingers together, dares a brush of lips against dimpled cheeks, and gets him right back for the flusters.

“Here’s one for our list, then.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 _Why the all caps lol_  
**THINGS TO TRY**  
AN ONGOING LIST BY HANAMAKI TAKAHIRO  & MATSUKAWA ISSEI  
_I live for all caps fuck you_

> **1.** **I approve of holding pinkies. —H**
> 
> **Verified. Seconded. —M**

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be a longer fic, each day of the matsuhana week a new number on the list, but due to deadline and life and me being terrified of mischaracterizations, that's a story for another time.
> 
> feedback is always appreciated (＾＾)ｂ let me know what you think?
> 
> [tumblr](https://astersandstuffs.tumblr.com/) // [fic post](http://astersandstuffs.tumblr.com/post/163536574574/like-a-river)


End file.
